It all began with a dance, trilling notes and traipsing steps, floating through the air as if on the backs of leaves fluttering gracefully in the wind. How it could have begun that way no one is sure. That it did begin in such a way, now that is the important part.

He watched her in that dance, his hand tapping against the table top in what to the outsider might have been construed as an annoyed fashion, when in reality it was anything but. His fingertips kept time with her feet, unable to match in anything but the tempo as her dainty shoes whirled across the floor. Longing, was that possibly the emotion running through his hands at the moment? No, that wasn't quite right, not so much in the physical sense at least. Wistful, pining; drawing on anything to give the hope that in all honesty she was able to keep dancing and pass him by. It was the opposite of longing, he knew.

Not for her sake, not for his, but for Fate's. If Fate were to figure out it was behaving kindly there was no doubt she would try to take back the action with a vehemence. There was nothing in this world that Fate did not try to take over, and she was as a spurned lover herself in the course of finding anything remotely filled with happiness of a certain kind.

He knew Fate, her workings, the Life he saw dancing before himself would never be able to find any sort of Love if he extended his hand towards her now, Fate would only make sure of that. It was what Fate did, intricately, dancing with him in the only way either knew how. It wasn't his business to try and partake in anything regarding Life or Love, anyways. He knew better. He really did.

And yet, his hand, fingertips still twitching in time to her steps, lifted. She paused, her eyes met his and she smiled. He froze, Fate scowled, the music continued to play. His hand was outstretched, as if begging for her favor; he did not remember turning it as such. And then, and then, and then… Time stopped.

He rose, sweeping elegantly across the floor, brushing up to that Life which had met him with upturned lips. All his longing, all his pining, wistfulness in the opposed extreme; it was all for naught. Her eyes warm, breath heightened as if trying to absorb his very essence, she grasped his hand lightly. And then they were cold.

He left then, letting her slowly sink where she stood, features still reflecting the joy that had come of the dance as if it was still able to continue.

Death paused only once to look over his shoulder, watching as Fate gathered her threads, eyeing whatever Life may have continued. Fate was as a scorned lover, always picking up the loose ends left when his hands pulled them from their host, severed as cleanly as if with a scythe. He couldn't blame her. He knew it was too much to ask, for forgiveness of this task.

But, this was a dance, they both knew. Their steps twining and spinning, relentless as ever it was. It would continue until the music ended.

And it played on.

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